


Stay

by explodingnebulae



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Cancer Arc, F/M, Ficlet, Gen, pre-death, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 23:22:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1323106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/explodingnebulae/pseuds/explodingnebulae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder comes to visit a dying Scully and she suggests he stays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this really late last night and I was really emotional when doing so. I'm sorry if it sucks, but please, by all means enjoy.

      It had happened in an instant. An instant in which she became aware that her life was truly slipping from her grasp. She had no way of stopping it or slowing it down. It would devour her, engulf her in its malevolence. She would suffocate long before the first feeble cry could tear through her. There was no retracing one’s steps after being shoved into Death’s arms. The only action she could take was to go limp in his grasp. There were traps surrounding her, encasing her, should she try and fight against him. Stillness was the only remainder.

            He came in through the door with a heaviness that oozed from his person, though he tried to mask it with a light smile that was spread across his lethargic features. He had not slept, she could tell. There were dark circles under his red, puffy eyes. Another truth was evident from merely observing him, but she did not want to acknowledge it. Taking away his rest was punishment enough. She did not need to dwell on the other side effects that were inflicted upon him by her condition.

            “Hey, Scully,” he greeted softly as he came closer. “Sorry about being so late.” He leaned over and placed his lips on her forehead for a long moment. She did not feel him breathe until he lifted from the kiss. There was a slowness to his retreat, a certain reluctance to move away from her as if she would disappear should he even consider it. He did not move far.

            Mulder took her hand between his and studied them for a moment as he settled himself on the side of her bed. She knew he was observing how small hers was in comparison and how frail it was looking as of late. Scully moved her eyes from his focal point and settled on his profile. He looked older, too old for his age. Guilt nestled in her stomach like burrs on fabric. He looked almost as exhausted as she felt. Whether or not he was still busy working on cases, she could not say, though she felt like he was not.

            In the beginning, when she had first been deemed bedridden three weeks prior, he had not visited frequently. When he did visit, it was awkward and quiet, neither knowing what to say. He worked on one case at the start and finished it, explaining it to her in great detail. It was one of the only times his eyes had reclaimed their brilliance. After the first week Mulder began to appear more regularly. His visits lasted longer, hours, occasionally an entire night when Margaret could not stay to watch over her. She hated that he felt obligated to take care of her. She hated looking weak in front of him. She hated dying of cancer and having him watch withered away. Despite her hatred, she did not want anyone else by her side as she felt herself fading, each day lesser than the day before.

            “Skinner told me to tell you hi,” started Mulder, successfully pulling her from her thoughts. “So, hi.” He smoothed his hand over hers and gave her a mostly genuine smile. “He, uh, he found some reason to throw me out for a week. Told me that I pissed him off more than usual and that the explanation was in the paperwork.”

            “You’re on suspension?” she asked, her hoarse voice rasping with disbelief. Scully shakily pushed herself up from under her covers and leaned her back against her pillows, breath lost from her lungs. She received a harsh look from Mulder but decidedly ignored it. The real reason of his suspension did not occur to her until he shifted up the bed, maintaining the short distance between them. He did not, however, reclaim her hand. “Oh. He didn’t have to do that.”

            There was a short interim of silence exchanged between the two of them. Scully looked away from him. She felt like crying but did not have the energy to do so. In its place, Scully settled for a forced swallow and a sigh. “But I’m glad, Mulder.” She was too tired to put up an argument or cover both gratitude and embarrassment simultaneously.

            He gave a confirming nod. “Me too,” said Mulder vacantly. “In fact,” he added with more emotion. A smile this time. “I thought that maybe we could watch some old movies and discuss how horrible they are, if you’re up for it. Maybe start with Ed Wood.”

            Scully worked up a grin and felt a small pool of warmth unfurl within her for just a moment. The next moment was swathed in a blanket of fatigue. Lethargy unexpectedly seeped into her bones and she made a perfunctory effort to reach out for his hand again. He took it up without pause or comment. Scully watched as he lifted it to his lips. She closed her eyes and memorized the way his lips felt on her skin. They were tender and warm, slightly chapped but mostly soft. It was a whisper of a kiss, but every bit of contact was felt in a very different way than before. It was a cliché, she knew, but she could not be sure whether or not she would wake up in the morning. The bomb had been rigged, only the date of detonation was uncertain.

            The thought made her sink under her covers. Subconsciously, Scully knew that she would not be rising again for the rest of the night. “I would like that,” she muttered before closing her eyes again. At the moment keeping them open was a chore, a waste of energy she didn’t have.

            “But, uh, maybe I should let you get some rest,” came Mulder’s voice laced heavily with reluctance and uncertainty. “I can come back in the morning or crash on your couch if you wa—“

            “Here,” said Scully. Slight desperation lined her interjection, but she was beyond the point of caring. “Mulder,” she continued as she opened her eyes enough to capture his gaze. “I would appreciate it.” She gave a small motion with her free hand to the vacant side of the bed. Scully was not sure if he would oblige her or refuse her and take the couch as he was going to suggest. Although Scully was uncertain of the reason, the idea of Mulder being at a distance that made it impossible for to touch him, whisper to him, upset her. And she feared the worst for a brief second. Then, Mulder gave a sigh and nodded slowly, his eyes betraying his apprehension.

            Mulder released her hand as he moved off the bed. She let it fall to the mattress before mustering up the energy to turn on her side. She closed her eyes again and listened to the sound of Mulder walking the short distance to the other side of the bed. Scully felt as he crawled under the covers beside her, his arm wrapping around her thin form in a synchronously light and secure hold. “Are you sure about this, Scully?” he murmured into her ear.

The question seemed absurd to her and she wanted to scold him—if only playfully tease him—for it. She managed a quiet affirming sound and moved her hand so as to lace with his, their fingers entwining effortlessly. She heard a soft noise from Mulder, something caught between a yawn and a sigh, as he settled against her form. She felt his breath splay on her neck, tickling the soft hairs and raising the skin slightly. “Thank you,” she muttered before heaviness set into her too thin form.

Mulder hummed his response and buried his nose into her hair, resting his forehead against her skull. “Goodnight, Scully.”

The world around her slipped away as she synchronized her breathing to the rhythm of Mulder’s chest expanding and contracting against her. She wondered for a quick moment why she never let him this close until now. He was the only thing that kept her alive and fighting. Even though she could no longer fight, she tried to postpone Death’s arrival as much and for as long as she could. And in the morning, she would wake to him still holding her, his breath still dancing along her skin. That was reason enough to live another day, she thought as she relinquished herself to sleep.


End file.
